


Tulips

by LadyAJ_13



Series: Tumblr Ficlets and Prompts [4]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hospitals, Inspector Morse Era, Male-Female Friendship, Terminal Illnesses, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: He doesn’t like hospitals. Never has, and by this point in his life, it’s pretty clear he never will.
Relationships: Dorothea Frazil & Endeavour Morse
Series: Tumblr Ficlets and Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879900
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Tulips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AstridContraMundum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstridContraMundum/gifts).



> Written for Astridcontramundum, who chose the dialogue prompt "Never change you" and left it up to me to choose the characters. I also amended the phrasing a little.

He doesn’t like hospitals. Never has, and by this point in his life, it’s pretty clear he never will. If numerous injuries and being friends with the local pathologist aren’t enough to wash away memories of before - the stench of stringent antiseptic and the sight of his mother, lost in sheets only marginally paler than she was, the sound of his wavering voice as he read aloud - then it’s likely a lifetime burden. Forever twelve years old among the whitewashed walls and squeak of nurses’ shoes.

Still. There are some people he’ll brave it for.

He walks familiar corridors to a familiar room. She’s asleep, which is a good thing. It’s painful, despite how she tries to hide it, and he thinks she’s secretly glad the end is now near. He sets the bunch of multicoloured tulips he’s brought on her bedside table, where a nurse will see and later transfer them to a hospital-issued vase. She chastises him when she’s awake - says they’re an extravagance out of season - but he notices the way her eyes drift to their colour in a drab room and keeps bringing them anyway.

He sighs as he sits in the chair next to the bed. They’re all getting old; he feels it in his joints. In his heels, too, when he’s been standing too long, and today was a lot of walking around tracking down witnesses with Lewis. Her eyes crack open.

“Morse,” she says.

“Afternoon, Miss Frazil.”

Her lips curve upwards at the old title; for both of them it recalls days of sandwiches on sunny benches, and digging through old newspaper stacks. He thinks about telling her of today’s case, but she looks tired, and he lets the silence stretch instead. Sometimes, perhaps, it’s enough to just be with an old friend.

“So tell me,” she says, just above a whisper. “You’re looking less rumpled than you normally do. Smartening up for someone?”

“For you, naturally.”

Her eyes narrow, and she purses her lips. “You've never dressed up for me before. You’re hiding something. New girl?”

He grins; her body may be failing but her mind is as strong as ever. There is someone - likely a fling, if even that - just the woman who owns the haberdasher’s shop down the road from the station. They’ve not exchanged more than the odd friendly conversation, but he’d had his hair neatly trimmed at the weekend and taken to ironing his shirts regularly again. “Never change, will you?”

“Not much time left for that,” she jokes, before turning serious. “You though. You never change either, you hear me?”

He goes to wave it off, but her hand catches weakly at his. “No, I mean it. Carry on. With the - the wild theories that turn out right, and the girl trouble, and the unhealthy obsession with that car. Lewis, too. Carry on with it all.”

He swallows. This sounds like a goodbye, and he knew - he knew it was coming. And however hard it’s been for him to watch her fade; tire and weaken; he knows it’s been harder for her. The pain, but also the lack of agency. She’s the most independent person he’s ever known and here she’s struck down, and… and he loves her. 

It was always going to be too soon.

“I will,” he manages.

“Good. Good.” She closes her eyes, and his heart catches. He half-stands - to call a nurse or run, he’s not sure - but her fingers tighten and he pauses. “Tell me about your case today,” she says. “Did you check with Benton if the Mail had any background? If he’s giving you any trouble accessing the archives, tell him I sent you.”

He relaxes, and sits back down in his chair. “Don’t worry, Benton is as scared of you as he ever was. I had a look through some old stories on Monday. We had interviews round Cowley today-”

“The old stomping ground.”

“Exactly.” He squeezes her fingers and smiles as she squeezes back. “We were down the far end of the Horspath road…”


End file.
